


Stutter

by itsaravenclawthing, votesaxonforministerofmagic (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Children, Child!AU, First Crush, First Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Kid!Lock, M/M, Multi, Young Love, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaravenclawthing/pseuds/itsaravenclawthing, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/votesaxonforministerofmagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“ARRGGG! I am a p-p-pirate!” the boy bellowed, waving is cardboard sword.<br/>“Don’t forget me Sherlock!” another boy giggles, stepping into the bedroom. “I am your first mate!” Wide eyed, Sherlock looked up, staring at the blonde boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pirates

“ARRGGG! I am a p-p-pirate!” the boy bellowed, waving is cardboard sword.

“Don’t forget me Sherlock!” another boy giggles, stepping into the bedroom. “I am your first mate!” Wide eyed, Sherlock looked up, staring at the blonde boy.

“How long have you be-been th-th-there John?” he stuttered, lowering his sword and removing his toy hat. The other boy took another step forward.

“Not long, prwomise!” John smiled, picking up Sherlock’s hat. “Lets play!” Sherlock dropped in the middle of the room, crossing his arms and legs in defeat. An over excited John ran around the room making priate noises at the top of his lungs.

“John s-s-stop! Pirates are stoooopid,” Sherlock complained, hugging himself tighter.

“They weren’t when you were being a pirate!” John argued, sliding across the floor to Sherlock on his knees. “Ouch,” he said, hugging his carpet-burned knees.

“Why are yo-yo-you in here?”

“This is my room silly!” John joked, swaying his weight from side to side in boredom.

“No. Why are you pre-pre-pretending to like me? M-Mummy and Daddy aren’t h-h-here.” he spluttered.

“I don’t - I don’t pretend! You’re my friend!”

“Are you making fun of m-me?” Sherlock yelled, “Go away! Mummy! Mumm-my! John is being m-mean!”

“No-no! Please,” John’s eyes started to well up, as he cradled himself. Mrs Holmes and Mrs Watson appeared, taking their son son and grandson into their arms. “He said I was being mean, I wasn’t being mean Prwomise Nanny!”

“Ok, calm down both of you,” she consoled. “What happened? Sherlock?”  
“He was m-making fun of my st-st-stutter, like e-everyone at s-school,” the boy trembled from behind his mothers shoulder. He was still learning how to control his emotions, like Mycroft, his older brother, did. He would spend hours observing his brother, watching how he reduces and suppresses his emotions towards everyone, but that boy called Greg.

“John, is this true? You know how much work Sherlock has put into working on his speech, with all the help of Greg and everyone,” Mrs Holmes said scornfully. John's eyes widened in fear, he shook his head violently. “Ok then, I will believe you. You two play nice now, come on Linda,” she said leaving the room with the older woman.

“Cheer up Sherly,” John said poking the boy next to him. Unlike other five year olds, John was very sensitive to other people's emotions and was able to sense other people's feelings towards him. He knew that Sherlock didn’t like him but was forced into playing together because of their parents. Even though John liked Sherlock because he was smarter and funnier than the other children on the street, he went on pretending he didn’t like him to please Sherlock. He regarded Sherlock as his only friend.

“Don-don’t call me that,” Sherlock huffed, deleting the previous events. He had learnt to forget, or as Mycroft called it - delete, his old memories from Mycroft. “Wanna-na play?” He picked up two swords and handed on timidly to John. He stood swaying from one side to another, mimicking a sword fight. “Come on its f-f-fun! I want to be a p-p-pirate!” He chimed. John snatched a sword and playfully stabbed the other boy in the ribs. They started to run around the large, suburban house, giggling as they ran.

 

Half an hour later, the boys arrived back at John’s bedroom, sweating and out of breath. “Lets play doctors now!” John breathed heavily. Sherlock nodded reluctantly and laid down on the bed. John always played the doctor, but Sherlock didn’t mind being the patient as it meant he didn’t have to do much. Once doctor John had finished examining his patient he let out a couple of tuts and announced, “no good, I am going to have to amputate this arm at once.” He ran his fingers around Sherlock's bicep making him shiver. John pulled out his cardboard sword and positioned it, sitting down on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock eye’s widened in terror.

“N-n-n-n-n-no! P-p-please!” Sherlock pleaded, shaking around.

“Don’t worry, it’s pretend,” John whispered calmly into Sherlock's ear before pretending to cut off his arm.

“Thank you doctor, I feel much better,” Sherlock proclaimed.

“Sherly! Sherly! You didn’t talk funny-like! It was the arm, I knew it!” John disclosed. Sherlock beamed up at the boy sitting on him.

“Yeah it must have been! P-p-please can you get off m-me?” Sherlock said opening a sudoku.

“Sherlock?”

“Y-yeah?” he said, trying to look interested in what John has to say.

“Where did Redbeard go?” John asked, remembering that the Holmes’ family dog has been missing for about a week now.

“M-M-Mummy and Daddy said he h-had gone to live on a farm with lots of other doggies just li-like him!” He exclaimed happily.

“I bet he is very happy,” John replied innocently, extending his arms as if to show how big the farm would be..

“Oh, little brother, you don’t really believe that do you?” Mycroft appeared at the bedroom door. “A happy little farm?”  
“Yes I d-do!” Sherlock said.

“Oh talk normally will you. Stop with this s-s-stutter,” Mycroft mocked.  
“That’s not very nice!” John stood up defensively and puffed out his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Shut up John! I am eleven now and I don’t want to have a kid brother crying everywhere. If you really want to know what happened to Redbeard, I will tell you. He was injected with a lethal poison with killed him.” Sherlock cried out in despair.

“What's wrong sweetie?” Sherlocks mother appeared in the doorway, pushing past Mycroft to get to Sherlock. “What has happened?”

“M-M-M-Mycroft said that R-Redbeard is d-d-dead!”

“Mycroft! How dare you!” She exclaimed in shock. “I did not raise you this way. It’s ok Sherlock, ok?”

“Oh please Mother, he has to know some day,” and he left again. John looked behind him and saw Sherlock wiping his eyes discreetly. He ran over and hugged him with his Mother.

“Get off m-me! I am fi-fine,” Sherlock protested before leaving the room.

 

Whilst was left John sat in his room reading his school book to Mrs Holmes’, Sherlock scouted around his neighbours house. He went through each room finding two dirty towels in the lounge, a banana peel in the kitchen and something called a ‘condom’ in Mr and Mrs’ Watson’s room. Sherlock had begun to grow more inquisitive with age, his parents told him he was like his brother. Sherlock made his way back to the downstairs bathroom to investigate this ‘condom’.

“Sherlock, you have been in the bathroom for a long time now, are you ok?” Mr Watson asked through the door. Sherlock had started to fill this mysterious ‘condom’ with water and was mentally noting the changes in size and texture. “Is that water? Sherlock if you don’t answer me right now… That’s it, I am getting your mother!” Sherlock heard footsteps fade away. He made a mental note to ask Mycroft about condoms later, “Mycroft knows everything” he thought to himself.

“Sherlock, open the door,” his mother said harsely through the door.

“O-okay…” he replied unsurely, opening the door. The condom had exploded, and there was water and fragments of it all over the bathroom. An astonished “woah” came from John who had appeared from behind his Grandmother.

“Sherlock! What have you done?”

“No-no-no-no-nothing! It was just an e-ex-experiment… See, I fou-found this con-dom thing in their bathroom,” he said pointing at Mrs Watson, “and I didn’t kn-know what it was so I tested it. What is a co-condom, Mummy?” He asked turning to his mother. Mrs Holmes felt her cheeks turning red.

“What were you doing going through their stuff? Thats rude Sherlock,” his mother scorned. “Say sorry.”   
“Wow…” John repeated, awestruck.

“Sorry-” he paused, “what is a condom M-M-Mummy?”

“Not now dear. Help clean this up, John can you help too? Again, I am so sorry Linda.”  
“It’s ok, it’s getting late anyway. You guys head home and we will see you next week,” she replied. Nodding, Mrs Holmes and Sherlock left, both red in the face.

* * *

The week after, the two families had planned to meet again in a fancy restaurant at the heart of London. Sherlock, John and John’s grandparents shared a car because Mycroft insisted on taking his friend Greg with them. The two boys sat in the back seats of the car punching each other in the arm to see who had the higher pain tolerance.

“Ouch!” John yelled. “That really hurt Sherlock.”

“Not my fault you f-f-feel p-pain. It doesn’t have to af-af-affect you, you know? You can ig-ignore it and live on. I learnt th-th-that from Mycroft!” he beamed at his likeness to Mycroft.

“That’s not very nice it is?” Mr Watson piped up. “You can’t hurt people Sherlock and then tell them not to be hurt.”

“It was ju-just an ex-experiment!” he defended. “Thanks a lot John,” he cursed under his breath.

“I heard that,” Mr Watson said looking into the rear view mirror. “Now you two better behave tonight. This is a nice place and I remember what happened last time… That means no attacking waitresses, Sherlock.”

“Ok sir,” Sherlock played with his thumbs. “So, John. Where’s your D-D-Daddy?” Mr and Mrs Watson exchanged nervous looks.

“Not now Sherlock, ok?”

 

When they were seated at a window view table, the two families - plus greg, the table was split in two halves. At one end of the table Sherlock and John were colouring in a childrens menu, arguing about who got to use the blue crayon and who went outside the lines first; on the other end of the table Greg and Mr Holmes were in deep conversation about the year 6 SATs that Greg and Mycroft will be taking in a few months.

“You would think that for such a smart guy he would want to pay attention in school,” Greg joked nodding at Mycroft next to him.

“Oh shut up. School means nothing and you both know that.” Mycroft whined at his father who had uncharacteristically taken an interest in social interaction.

“May I take your orders?” A waitress hushed the loud table.

“What can you deduce My? Greg whispered.

“Not now,” Mycroft whined.  
“Why are you scared?” Greg teased, patting Mycroft knees jokingly.

“Ok, She’s a failing college student, who has lost her parents so has to support herself with this waitressing job. Sorry, that’s all I can get. I am so stupid. I am so sorry.”

“No, you stop that right now, you are not stupid! That’s more than anyone here could get,” Greg tried to persuade him. He stopped patting Mycroft's knee and left his hand resting next to Mycrofts. Once the orders had been placed the table was left in awkward silence.

“So…” Greg paused, thinking, “your speech had definitely improved Sherlock.”

“Oh yes! Since you started mentoring him, he has grown spectacularly. I am sure he is very thankful, as are we,” Mrs Holmes smiled at her blushing son.

“It’s because I am ol-ol-older now,” Sherlock argued.

“Of course, Sherlock,” smiled Greg before turning back to Mycroft.

“No need to be such a kiss ass, Greg,” Mycroft muttered, his mother exclaimed in shock to her eleven year old sons language. “Oh please Mother.”

“Mr Holmes can I talk to you in private please?” Greg asked, hinting towards the bar. “Anyone want anymore drinks?”

 

When they left the table with a list of beverages, Mycroft couldn’t help watch Greg out. He felt different towards that boy. He had become so good at hiding his emotions that no one could figure if he was being serious or joking around, which is advanced for a child his age. However, he couldn’t hide his feelings from Greg. He expressed his worry to his counsellor but all that she said was that he had a crush on Greg, Mycroft thought this statement was ludicrous. "Smart, handsome, wondrous Greg," he thought to himself uncharacteristically.

“So Sherlock, how is school going?” Mr Watson asked trying to spike up conversation.

“B-boring. Everyone there is h-h-horrid to me because of the way I s-sp-speak.”

“Don’t listen to them champ,” Mr Watson responded proudly. “You missed a spot,” he said pointing to a white spot on the colouring sheet. WHen Greg and his father returned, both Sherlock and Mycroft noticed that Greg had put some product in his hair and Mr Holmes’ hand was around his shoulders.

“There’s something Greg would like to ask you,” Mr Holmes announced, nudging Greg forwards and unintentionally getting everyone's attention.

“Um- Mycroft- um,” he started almost in tears. He could feel everyone's eyes staring at him, burning.

“Get on w-w-with it,” Sherlock said, face centimeters away from his meal.

“Shut up stutter boy,” Mycroft rowed angrily before turning back to Greg.

“Will- will you be my boyfriend? Your dad said it was ok and-”

“Yes!” Mycroft half yelled, jumping into his arms.

* * *

The next day, at midday, Greg arrived at the Holmes’ house crying.

“Good-good morning Mrs Holmes. Is Mycroft there?” Greg said through waves of tears.

“Sure sweet,” she replied smiling, indicating for Greg to come inside. Greg slowly walked in, and tried to wipe his face. A few minutes later, he found himself in Mycroft's room hugging his boyfriend tightly.

“What’s wrong?” Mycroft asked caringly.

“My birth mum got in contact with me… I don’t know what to do,” Greg sobbed into Mycroft's shoulder. “She wants to meet me, I don't want to meet her- I don’t-” Not knowing what to do, Mycroft awkwardly patted him on the back.

“You can do what you want. I am here,” he said drawing back his face so they were staring into each others eyes. Greg’s cheeks became rosey. Mycroft leaned into his ear and whispered, “don’t tell anyone this but I like like you.”

 

 


	2. Pizza Hut

“I-I am not five an-an-anymore J-John!” Sherlock protested, rejecting John’s proposal to play doctors with him. He puffed out his chest, and put his knife and fork down trying to look older than he actually was.  
“I know, you’re seven like me!” John exclaimed happily, “but why can’t we play?”  
“Because p-p-pl-playing is for ch-children,” he huffed, folding his arms.  
“You are children,” Mycroft reminded with a mouthful of broccoli from the other end of the table. Sherlock shot him an evil look.  
“Shut it both of you, you’re too similar for your own good,” Greg laughed, he bumped his shoulder into his boyfriend’s trying to make him smile.  
“Can we g-g-get do-down please?” Sherlock stuttered, thinking carefully on how to speak.  
“Not until you can repeat this: hello,” Greg said.  
“H-el-lo,” Sherlock drawled.  
“Good! Very good!” Greg praised. “You two leave the table, you still have two hours before your parents arrive home, Sherlock. I will be mentoring you in just over an hour, have fun.” The two boys ran up the stairs laughing about something they had heard at school.  
“I still can’t believe that they put you in charge of us,” Mycroft whined, “I am clearly better and more responsible.”  
“My, if you were in charge, the place would be a war ground by now,” he joked. “You would be at Sherlock's neck and John would have probably eaten every last bit of food they have in this house. Good thing you have me to look after you.” He winked at the other boy before reclining to the sofa. “Video games?” Mycroft observed his partner. He had grown about three inches since they first started dating two or three years ago. His face had matured too, his cheek bones finally taking a show and puberty had obviously hit him early, Mycroft had observed his funny walk. He had also increasingly become more interested in Mycroft, which he found curious. He couldn’t understand how a person could, at the age of twelve, be so infatuated with someone.  
“Left! Left! On your left!” Mycroft ordered. His eyes broke from the screen when Greg was killed by an unseen mine. His eyes wandered up and down Gregs body, fascinated by every inch. He wasn’t sexually attracted to people yet, but he was very curious. Greg moaned as he flew backwards imitating his character being shot. Worried that something had happened to Greg, Mycroft rushed onto his lap, legs either side, and inspected his head.  
“I am fine, My! You worry too much-” he was cut off at the sight of his boyfriend sitting on his lap. His eyes met Mycroft’s.  
“We have always talked about kissing and how to kiss, but we have never actually kissed, Greg… And I was wondering if, maybe-” he was cut off by Gregs lips being slowly pressed down upon his own. A smile broke over both the boys flushed faces as they broke apart, giggling childishly. Mycroft slumped off Greg and cuddled his arm defensively. “I liked that.”  
“Me too. We should kiss again sometime,” Greg laughed, pressing ‘Respawn’ on the video game. “Cover me!” He said throwing a remote at Mycroft.  
The boys played on for half an hour not speaking until they hit an auto save.  
“Hey Greg? Have you heard anything from your birth mother this week? I know she was getting clingy and all…” Mycroft trailed off.  
“No, not this week, usually she calls every tuesday to the agency asking to be put through to me, but because I am under age they can’t. They say she’s getting worse…”  
“What do you mean?” Mycroft said frowning.  
“I got told last week she is a drug addict-” Greg sighed.  
“Oh- I am sorry to hear that. Will you be meeting up with her?” Mycroft asked, pausing the reloaded video game.  
“I don’t think I want to. My mum, my adopted one, says she’s not a nice person… I don’t like not nice people.”  
“On your left!” Mycroft said, turning the video game back on.  
  
Upstairs, John was sprawled out over his bed, reading out loud to Sherlock, who wasn’t paying attention. Sherlock found the book mind numbingly boring, “ I could have read the whole book in the time he takes to read a page!” he thought to himself. He was sitting with his legs out the window, watching people as they walked past, observing.  
“... And saw that although Count Olaf was wearing shoes, he wasn’t wearing any socks,” John read aloud slowly. Sherlock nodded as if he was listening. “They could see, in the space of pale skin between his tattered trouser cuff and his black shoe, that Count Olaf had an image of an eye tattooed on this ankle… What a horrid tattoo to have!” John exclaimed looking up, “Sherly be careful! You could fall and hurt yourself!” He ran over to the window and tried to pull the boy back in.  
“J-J-John, that book w-was v-v-very b-boring,” Sherlock moaned as his feet hit the floor.  
“I don’t care what you think, I love that series. Nanny reads them to me all the time!” John exclaimed. “What were you doing out the window, Sherlock?”  
“I w-was ob-ob-observing people, J-John,” Sherlock replied. “I am l-l-learning to d-de-deduce like Mycroft!”  
“Awesome!” John beamed back at him, hiding the fact that he didn’t know what ‘deduce’ meant.  
“L-look. T-that woman has an ad-addiction,” Sherlock said excited at his own deduction.  
“How did you know that? That’s not very nice?”  
“What’s not very nice?” Greg said casually, leaning on the doorframe. Mycroft peered into the room from behind him.  
“Sherlock said that woman down there had an addiction,” John confessed shyly. Greg’s stomach dropped. “Is that my mother?” he asked himself.  
“Let me have a look,” Mycroft barged in, dragging Greg behind him. “Yeah, you got that right. Well done Sherlock!” Mycroft announced sarcastically, giving Greg a look to tell him that the person did not have an addiction. Greg sighed with relief.  Sherlock smiled broadly, happy that his brother acknowledged his intelligence.  
“Are you ready to be mentored now Sherlock?” Greg said turning to Sherlock.  
“Nooooo, n-not yet!” Sherlock whined childishly. “M-m-m-me and J-John want to play,” he said, taking the bouncing John’s hand. “Come o-on J-John.”  
“I thought you weren’t five anymore,” Mycroft mocked. Greg punched him in the ribs to shut him up as the boys skipped together outside.  
  
Half an hour later, Greg called the boys in. John had set off to do his chores leaving Greg, Sherlock and Mycroft in the sitting room.  
“I d-d-don’t wanna,” Sherlock moaned, Mycroft rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.  
“I will be in the kitchen when you are done,” he said leaving after giving Greg a peck on the cheek.  
“It’s just a kiss on the cheek, Sherlock,” Greg teased, making fun of Sherlock’s face of disgust. “Now, shall we start?”  
“O-ok-” Sherlock paused. He started to think of every escape route and option he had to hand. “I don-don’t have a st-st-st-stutter anymore!”  
“Really? That again?” Greg laughed, and he moved them both to the table, pulling out his flash cards. Sherlock was a hard child to teach for adults, let alone an eleven year old. However, Greg was the only one that Sherlock would talk to openly about everything with. Sherlock’s parents thought he was a saint and paid him £10 a week to mentor him, and due to Sherlock’s abnormally harsh exterior, it was also Greg’s job to keep track of Sherlock’s mental health. This had become a problem for Sherlock when he had started school three years ago. That’s when the bullying had started and when Sherlock had started to seclude himself. “Now, can you repeat these words for me?” He showed Sherlock a card with a picture of a cow.  
“Th-that’s not a wor-word, idiot,” Sherlock grumbled.  
“No need to be rude,” Greg said correcting his error and pulled out the correct card. “Go on then, smart boy.” Greg had adapting a teaching method with Sherlock where he made Sherlock annoyed and therefore competitive. Greg learnt that in this state, Sherlock would always try to beat him at his own game. It was the only way Sherlock ever learned anything.  
“Don’t c-call me th-th-that!” Sherlock sulked, crossing his arms. “C-co-cow.”  
“No, like this,” he replied indicating got his mouth, “cow.”  
“C-owww,” Sherlock said mimicking Greg, “see! I am fine!”  
“That was very good!” he praised. “How is school recently?” Probed Greg as he looked through his flash cards for a new sound.  
“It’s o-o-ok,” he stuttered in response. Greg knew this wasn’t true because Sherlock never thought of anything as ‘ok’ but instead of arguing, he flashed another card.

* * *

The next day at school, during break, a gang of boys strode up to where Sherlock was sitting alone. Looking up, Sherlock could see their intentions and hugged his stomach to protect his vital organs. Sherlock was used to being beaten up at school. He had been bullied from his first day, three years beforehand. It started with a few phrases and names like ‘Stuttering Sherlock,’ but it all eventually grew to weekly beatings and rumors. No one ever tried to defend him or help him back up when he was on the floor crying. He was alone at school, that way no one else got hurt for him. He thought that being alone protected others. Sherlock’s parents thought it was just playground arguing and that he was just clumsy, that’s why he had so many bruises and scraped knees. He was confused and alone in his fight.  
“Where’s Redbeard, Sh-Sh-Sh-Sh-Sherly?” The largest boy in the herd spat. Another took Sherlock’s half eaten apple and threw it to the ground. Sherlock got up and started to walk away, but another boy pushed him back into the gang of boys.  
“Can you believe that he thought his dog was alive?” One boy chanted.  
“Where did you hear that?” Sherlock said hoarsely, his eyes grew wetter.  
“Overheard it from your big brother and his boooooyfriend,” another sang. Across the playground Sherlock could see John playing Doctors and Nurses with a girl named Irene. “Why does he never see?” Sherlock asked himself, pleading today John will see them bully him. But he doesn’t.  
“Stuttering Sherly! Stuttering Sherly!” The boys circled Sherlock and started to chant, spinning around him. Disoriented and with no way of escape, Sherlock collapsed to the floor crying.  
“What is going on here?” A voice bellowed from behind the gang. “Get out of here and don’t bother him again!” As the boys ran away in terror, the person helped Sherlock up. Looking up, Sherlock saw it was Greg. He collapsed into Greg’s arms and hugged him, thanking him. Suddenly, he broke off.  
“I didn’t need your help.” Sherlock protested, wiping his grazed knees. His school shorts never protected them, he noted to himself. He hated the fact that Greg stood up for him like that. “I could have done that myself,” he thought angrily to himself forgetting his was only seven.  
“You ok champ? Here,” he said handing over half his sandwich. Greg sat down on the wall besides Sherlock and hinted for him to join him. “Where is John? I thought you two were friends?” He asked when Sherlock was seated.  
“N-n-no, he d-do-doesn’t like m-me.”  
“But you guys play together all the time, surely he must like you,” Greg said through a mouthful of sandwich  
“N-no, he just pre-t-tends to l-ik-e me,” Sherlock said, thinking carefully on his speech. He wants to impress Greg to show that he is capable of something and not just being bullied. The class bell rang.  
“I am sure that’s not true. I have to go now. Good job on your speech by the way!” Greg said as he started to job off to class leaving Sherlock behind.  
Greg sat in the back of his class, in a seat where he could watch Sherlock in the playground as he was in the extended break period allowed to year twos and below. Sherlock was still alone, still picking at the half a sandwich Greg had given him.  
“I heard that a certain someone stuck up for my brother today,” Mycroft said as he sat down next to Greg.  
“Oh yeah? Who was it?” Greg replied playfully. Mycroft gave him a disapproving look.  
“It was nothing, ok? I would have done it for anybody. And I don’t think they will be bothering him again now anyway.”  
“But that’s just it. It wasn’t just anybody. You know how much he means to me and you helped him because of that. Thank you so much,” Mycroft said, taking two pieces of paper from the class helper. He then leaned over and gave his boyfriend a quick peck on the check before returning to his notes.

* * *

“Greg, as you know, you are practically family to us,” Mr Holmes said, seating Greg in the empty sitting room. “And as you know, you have been dating my son for almost three years now.” Colour drained from Greg’s face.  
“Ye-yes Sir,” he replied.  
“I hope you understand how much you mean to my son. He doesn't stop talking about you and he thinks a great deal to you,” Greg could hear cheers from the garden. There was a get-together for the two families.  
“O-Of course Sir.”  
“Stop being worried my dear boy! It would be my honor if I could arrange and fund your first date. To help keep the romance going, eh?” Greg let out a sigh of relief.  
“That would be awesome, thank you s-sir!” Greg beamed happily.  
“I would also like to  do this as a thank you for helping Sherlock’s speech and stopping those children hurting him at his school. You have been a godsend to us.”  
“Oh, no need for that Sir, Sherlock is like a brother to me. Anything to help!” He said as if trying to prove his importance. Mr Holmes dismissed himself and Greg ran outside. “Mycroft! Your Dad has said we can go on a date!” Mycroft blushed and hid his face in Gregs shoulders. Mrs Holmes and Mrs Watson let out a delighted squeal, Mycroft had warned them not to drink so much.  
“That’s great,” Mycroft said, he hugged his boyfriend tighter. “Where shall we go?”  
“Pizza Hut!” Greg beamed gleefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please leave a comment below! I take suggestions for plots:)  
> A little shout out for my beta- thank you so much you made this story awesome!


	3. Friends

Greg turned up a week later at Mycroft’s house, as planned. Behind his back, he held a bouquet of flowers, he’d custom-picked himself. He had been wondering for the whole week on what to treat Mycroft with, and after a long conversation with his mother and a local florist he had finally picked out a handful of red roses; he just hoped that Mycroft was able to look over the cliché. He had dressed in his best button up shirt, the white one with the classy grey rims, and his best pair of jeans. He looked down at his favourite trainers shyly as he knocked. He checked his specially-styled hair in the window.

“Hello, is Mycroft there?” he asked, in a higher pitch than he would have liked. His hand tightened around the flowers.

“Sure sweetie, I’ll get him. You look lovely,” Mrs Holmes said before walking back into their house to fetch Mycroft. Greg nervously looked back at his mother who nodded at him in reassurance. “It’s ok,” she mouthed at him. Greg hadn’t been this nervous since he arrived at his adoptive mothers house seven years before. He started to feel the sweat in his palms build up. Mycroft arrived at the door. Greg’s heart skipped a beat. He stood there with his mouth stuck open. His boyfriend stood before him in a three-piece suit, with styled hair and polished shoes. Mycroft fixed his tie importantly. The white haired boy turned red.

“You- you - you look - wow,” Greg struggled. He looked down at his jeans and shirt, disappointed in himself. He pulled his hand from behind his back. “These are for you,” Mycroft hid his smile behind his hand and gave the bunch of flowers to his mother to put into a vase.

“Thank you, although they are a little cliché-” Mycroft started.

“Wha- don’t you like them?” Greg stumbled backwards in worry.

“No, I love them, thank you,” Mycroft hugged Greg tightly. “They are wonderful, truly. Shall we go?”

 

The date between the two boys went ‘awesomely’ as Greg would put it. They sat in a back corner of Pizza Hut. Greg called it romantic, Mycroft called it age discrimination. They both ordered one pizza for them to share, and two Cokes.

“Will that be all?” The brunette waitress asked, smiling down at the two boys. Greg had taken it upon himself to order for the two of them, “that’s what you are meant to do,” he told himself. He nodded and blushed as the waitress scribbled down their order. Mycroft and Greg sat on the same side of the table, holding hands. “Sorry to be forward, but are you two boyfriends?”

“Yeah! I’m his boyfriend!” Greg chimed, throwing their linked hands in their air for her to see.

“That is so cute! Is it ok if I take a picture for my friends? They will love you two!” The waitress asked cheerfully. Both the boys nodded and pulled obscure faces to her camera. She thanked the boys and left.

 

After they had finished eating their shared deserts, they paid for the meal and waited outside to be picked up. Outside the entertainment complex,  the boys sat hand in hand, staring at the stars above. It was early in the evening but the boys were already falling asleep on each others shoulders. Above, the winter stars moved ever so slowly. Mycroft was sleepily telling Greg mindless facts about the stars. The night seemed to stop in motion as the boys hung their heads tiredly. Greg’s head was on Mycroft’s shoulder. They could both feel the harsh winter wind brush against them. They pulled each other closer.

“Today was perfect,” Greg said softly against Mycroft’s neck. The noises from the complex behind them filled their ears with meaningless yet tantalising sounds. They grew tireder.

“Perfection is a myth that people believe in order to distract themselves from reality,” Mycroft replied dully. Greg sat there in silence, his little brain processing his boyfriends response.

“So it wasn’t ok for you?”

“No, of course it was good,” Mycroft corrected, holding his Greg’s hand tighter. “I don’t want it to end.”

“It was awesomely…” Greg mumbled before falling asleep. The sound of Greg’s breathing swam through Mycroft’s unconscious brain. Greg’s mother pulled up besides the boys, and with the help of Mrs Holmes, picked up the sleeping boys and put them in the back of the car. The boys slept in each others arms on the ride home.

* * *

The next day, Sherlock and John were playing Indians and Cowboys in the Watsons’ back garden. Sherlock was running round a makeshift tipi topless, with “tribal mud patterns” smeared across his chest. He was screaming at the top of his lungs at the marching army in front of him. John, the army, was marching towards Sherlock through the over grown grass wearing his Grandfather's old army cap. John was carrying a stick under his arm in a military fashion, whereas Sherlock opposed him with a stick held like a spear. They met each others eyes and froze. John screamed, now racing towards Sherlock. They crashed into each other, falling to the floor. Sherlock clambered on top of John, wrestling him. John wiggled around in the mud puddle beneath him, and threw Sherlock of him.

“What on Earth are you two doing?” Mycroft asked standing over them. He twirled his umbrella around in the rain.

“P-p-playing!” Sherlock moaned, throwing himself to his feet. He stood up and tried to wipe the mud off him.

“Right, ok. Mrs. Watson wants you two to come to the shop with me.”

“But we are playing,” John whined, him too got off the floor and cleaned himself.

“And I don’t care. I will wait in the porch. Hurry up,” Mycroft said before waltzing back indoors.

 

“Why you two couldn’t have washed…” Mycroft sulked as they were walking up a hill. He tried to look as if he didn’t know the two muddy boys but it was a close knit neighborhood, where everybody knew everybody. “You two stay here,” he demanded when they arrived at the shop.

“Look! It’s Stuttering Sherly and he has a frwwweeeind,” a boy sang. Sherlock looked up and noticed the gang of boys who bullied him at school arrive around the corner. Sherlock and John sat on an old bench in the rain as the boys approached them. Sherlock sunk his head into his hands, “not in front of John, please,” he pleaded to himself.

“What are you doing here Sh-Sh-Sherly?” the chubby boy snarked. One of the boys pulled Sherlock out of his seat and started to push him in the arm.

“Hey! You leave him alone!” John yelled, getting to his feet. He pushed past two of the boys and made his way to Sherlock who was cowering on the floor.

“Sherlock has a boyfriend! Sherlock has a boyfriend!” One of the boys started to sing.

“I’m no-not his boyfriend!” John protested. A boy with shorn hair grabbed him by the collar and punched him around the face. John fell backwards onto the wall behind them. He saw Sherlock being kicked in the stomach. He heard the boys run away, laughing.

 

Half an hour later, Mycroft got the two boys back to John’s house. He gave John a bag of peas to stop the swelling on his face. Sherlock held it in place for him as he hugged his own stomach. He knew Mycroft would tell his mother about this. Mrs Watson was appalled. She gave them both some calpol to help with the pain then left to phone the school.

“W-why did y-y-you help-p me?” Sherlock muttered.

“Because you are my friend, silly,” John said confused. Sherlock stood there, staring, not moving. His mind slowly processing that he had a friend. His eyes were fixed on John’s. “Ok, stop that,” John giggled. His winced at the sharp pain down his cheekbone.

“I h-h-have an i-idea,” Sherlock started, “I-I saw M-My-Mycroft and G-Greg do i-it…”

“Sure!” John smiled at Sherlock. “He is finally my friend,” he thought cheerfully to himself.

“W-we-well… Clo-close your e-eyes, that’s wh-what they d-d-d-did,” Sherlock said. He checked to see if John had closed his eyes before slowly pressing his lips against John’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was shorter than normal! Please leave comments and suggestions below. Next chapter should be up soon!


	4. Birth Mother

John froze.

“What- what was that?” John mumbled. He was confused. He touched the area on his lips were Sherlock had kissed him, his lips burnt. The burning moved to his cheeks. “Am I red?” he quizzed himself. The burning hurt in his cut. John’s head still hurt from its collision with the pavement. He was knocked back a few steps in confusion. “That felt wei-ird,” he said, expressing every letter. He stepped forwards again and climbed onto his tiptoes. He slowly pressed his lips against Sherlock’s again. “Just to test,” he told himself.

“Th-that’s what gro-grown ups do,” Sherlock answered. “T-th-they kiss!” John could feel Sherlock’s breath on his nose. Sherlock looked down to John’s eyes, and stroked his jawline. John was red and was playing with his hands by his sides. “W-w-w-was that n-no-not ok?”

“We can’t kiss! We aren’t married, silly!” John said shaking his head violently. They stood in silence. John looked into Sherlock’s eyes, he looked scared. He took a step backwards and put the frozen peas on his face again.

“Oh… I-I-I did-didn’t know t-th-that,” Sherlock replied shakily. His hands held his stomach again, he felt the throbbing through his heart and stomach.

“What got to you two?” Greg said, leaning on the doorframe casually. He rushed towards them as he saw the cuts on John’s face and Sherlock’s arms. “What happened?”

“Oh, those meanies from school again,” John sulked, allowing him to take the peas of his cut. He winced.

“Should I have words with them, Sherly?”

“N-no, it’s ok-okay,” he hid his arms and cradled his stomach harder.

“Ok, I will wait. One more chance though, ok?” He smiled kindly at the young boy. “Anyway, what was this about kissing?”

“N-nothing,” Sherlock stuttered after seeing John give him a ‘I’ll-kill-you’ look from over his frozen pea bag.

“Ok… you two shouldn’t be kissing,” he joked. John’s pupils dilated and he hung his head in shame. “I was joking Johnny! Now come on home Sherlock, we gotta teach you how to speak.”

 

“Jo-John, please just talk t-to m-m-me,” Sherlock pleaded John over and over. It was the seventh day since the “experimental” kiss. John had ignored him every single day since. He had extremely conflicted emotions over this, and for a seven year old, it is a lot to deal with. John couldn’t help but cry himself to sleep every night. He felt dirty, as if he had cheated on someone with Sherlock. John hadn’t told his grandparents as he knew they would disapprove, he felt so guilty because of this. He felt so heavy. However, he felt strangely happy that the kiss had happened but he didn’t understand why. He did everything in his power to hide his emotions from everyone, especially Sherlock. He didn’t like the way Sherlock looked at him now, he felt as if he did something wrong. John could feel a fire in his heart and butterflies in his stomach.

“No, I don’t want to,” John tried to walk away but Sherlock grabbed his arm. But he quickly let go, realising they were in the same house and there was no where for John to run off too, unlike school. Sherlock didn’t know what he did wrong. He had seen a thousand kisses between a man and a woman on tv. He started to wonder if it felt wrong to John because they were both boys. But he challenged this with Greg and Mycroft. “Why can’t he like me?” he sobbed to himself.

“Pl-please, I just w-w-want to be fr-friends,” Sherlock pouted. He knew something was wrong with John because he had been holding his neck a lot recently. He wanted to tell Greg everything, but Greg hadn’t been around much recently. John looked him in the eyes, properly for the first time. John could see a scared boy staring back at him. he pulled Sherlock in for a hug.

“No more kisses,” he joked.

“R-r-really?” Sherlock pulled away from the hug. “He is hiding something, what is it?” Sherlock quizzed himself, observing his new friend. He stared at the floor. He wanted to kiss John again.

“Yeah, we are friends! And we are only seven, silly,” John sang. He picked up Sherlocks sword and chased him out the room.

 

Greg was huddled in the corner of his old bedroom. He was were the bed used to be before his birth mother sold it. He could see the blankets he had to sleep in. The dated wallpaper was still peeling from the walls and he could smell the old booze and cigarettes on the carpet again. The smell burned young Greg’s nose. A shadow emerged from the doorway. Greg whimpered to himself. He was defenseless, unable to move. The faceless shadow was now yelling at Greg, yelling inaudible words. He was bound to the floor by an invisible force.

“GET OFF ME!” He screamed in panic. He threw himself to sitting. He was awake now.  Greg was covered in sweat. He was in his new bedroom; the wallpaper wasn’t peeling and he couldn’t smell alcohol or cigarettes. He was home. “It was just a dream, it was just a dream,” he repeated to himself. He hated nightmares, as did all eleven year olds did, but they were mostly flashbacks for Greg. He couldn’t understand what happened to him and why it happened to him. He reached up and touched his head, “no blood” he noted to himself. His mother rushed into the room, phone in hand.

“It’s today,” she blurted. Greg knew what she meant. He was meeting his birth mother for the first time today. Blood drained from his face in terror. She hugged him supportingly. “We don’t have to-”

“No, I want to.”

“You don’t have to, the agency has already said that. Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to,” she repeated. Greg shook his head and agreed to the meeting. “Don’t worry, I will be there and so will Cathy, you like Cathy.” Cathy was Greg’s support worker. She was the social worker who dragged him from his previous home when he was five and gave him his first hot meal.

“Yeah, lets do that. When?”

“Four o’clock,” she replied, smiling. He smiled back at her weakly as she left. He got out of bed and examined his body in the mirror. He took off his t-shirt and saw his, now, small scar on his left shoulder. He remembered when he received that from his birthmother’s ‘special’ friend.

 

Greg and his mother went shopping to pick him out a new suit two hours later. He had recovered from his nightmare and had stopped shaking. “I want one like My’s!” Greg chimed to every shop assistant who had tried to help him. His mother explained half the situation and eventually he tried on a grey suit. He wore an overcoat, waistcoat, and trousers as he twirled around in the dressing room.

“Oh Greg! You look so handsome!” His mother exclaimed when she walked into the room.

“Too much?” Greg asked, hinting at the overcoat. He wanted to look normal for today. She shook her head in disagreement when Greg pulled a playful pose.

“Very dashing,” she played along, striking poses with her son. “Shall we buy these and then get McDonalds?” Greg nodded. They walked over to McDonalds after paying for their clothes. Greg, still in his new, grey suit, wandered hand-in-hand with his mother. It was not a usual occurrence and it made his mother worry. “Just nervous,” she tried to reassure herself. Even she knew she had to be strong for Greg today. She recoiled at the idea of being in the same room as Greg’s birth mother. After ordering their usual meals, they sat in a window seat. Greg watched people walk by the window; some were holding hands, others were kissing, an old lady was playing the flute for loose change. He let his head sink down his arm in misery. “What’s wrong darlin’?” Greg’s mother said in her west-London-y accent.

“Just nervous,” he huffed. He felt overdressed and exposed. He was worried that his birth mother would lash out like she used to do.

“It’ll be ok. Now eat up, it’ll get cold.”

 

“Greg, Linda, Emma, this is a safe environment, free of judgements and discrimination. This is a meet and greet. You all know the terms and conditions of this meeting,” Cathy started. She nodded to greg, Greg’s mother and Greg’s birth mother at each of their names. “First I would like to to thank you all for coming today. I see here that it has been six years since you have seen your son, is that correct Emma?”

“Sure, must be,” Greg’s birth mother replied. She was shaking drastically on her chair.

“Now, Greg, is there something you would like to say to your birth mother?” She smiled pleasantly at the shy boy. Greg finally worked up the courage to look up. He saw the familiar face, skinner now than it was six years ago. He met her eyes but quickly looked away in fear. He mumbled a ‘no’ before returning to playing with his thumbs. “There is no need to be shy,” she laughed invitingly. “Now, Linda, how had Greg been in these past years”

“Absolutely wonderful. I am so glad to be his mother,” Emma stood up.

“HE IS NOT YOUR SON!” She yelled. Greg jumped in shock. He fell off his chair backwards and started to cry softly.

“Hunny!” Greg’s mother hurried to his side, helping him up. “Don’t yell.”

“Emma, please sit down,” Cathy ordered. Greg’s birth mother had now reeled onto her knees.

“Please, please come back to me Greggy!” She started to cry. “I won’t hurt you, see, I am nice. Aren’t I nice? I am a nice person.” She started to pleaded condescendingly at the whimpering boy. Greg had ran to behind his mother. He was shaking and tears started to

“Emma stop this!” Cathy barked, losing her normal polite tone. The woman sat back down, elbows on her legs trying to stop the radical shaking. “Thank you. Now, continue Linda please.”

“He has- has been mentoring this child who lives next door to his boyfriend’s house. He teaches Sherlock how to teach properly, poor boy has a stutter.”

“Don’t pity him,” Greg sulked. He knew how much Sherlock hated people pitying him for his speech impediment.

“You have a boyfriend?” Cathy asked, attempting to keep conversation flowing. In her seat, Emma sat, still shaking, dazed at her surroundings. She stared at her son.

“Boyfriend?” Greg’s birth mother repeated. “That can’t be right, can it Greggy?”

“Yeah, and he is very happy with him,” Greg’s mother replied proudly. She looked at Cathy for her to interfere.

“It’s a safe environment here,” Cathy generically repeated. They stared at the eleven year old in unison. He felt their stares burn through him.

“Yeah, My- I mean Mycroft, is really nice and funny and makes me feel special,” he said innocently. He felt the stares decrease slightly. Greg’s birthmother bobbed her head up and down in either acceptance or habit.

“Do you have any plans or goals for this session Greg?” He looked up at his support worker. He shook his head and asked to go to the bathroom. When he was dismissed, he half ran into the hallway. He sprinted to his usual bathroom. He used to go to this CAMHS counselling building when he was a little younger, he kept that from Mycroft. He dashed into the familiar surroundings of the bathroom before collapsing into one of the stools. He pulled out a tissue and dried his teary eyes. “I thought I could do this,” he challenged himself.

 

When he had gained the strength to walk back to the session he saw two security guards carrying his birth mother out of the room. She was crying and screaming hysterically.

“I love you Greggy!” She screamed after him as she was taken down the hallway. He continued into the white walled room.

“Wh-what?” He asked, breath knocked out of him.

“Not now Greg.”

 

*time skip - 3 years*

 

“Sherlock please come out of there,” John begged. “It’s been three days!” He slumped against the bedroom door. “Please… I miss you. And how have you still been eating?” John’s chest was throbbing. He and Sherlock hadn’t been friends properly for the three years since the kiss. It had been mainly fake smiles and forced days together. John had tried to genuinely include Sherlock in his games and so forth but the boy had just pushed him away, physically and emotionally. Sherlock had been terrified of facing John for the past few years. It had started with generalised anxiety but had soon spiralled out of control into a whirlwind of anxiety and missed playdates. Inside the room, Sherlock was slumped in the corner, facing the door. He was barely alive. He had to go outside, he knew that. He had calculated he had three hours until passing out again. He had already passed out several times from dehydration.

“Pl-pl-please go a-a-a-a-a-away,” he voice was hoarse.

“I am going to get you some food and a glass of water.” John’s footsteps faded away. Sherlock crawled towards the door, head spinning, he fell over on the way. He cracked the door open slightly when John had announced the food was placed outside. His two pale arms snatched the food and water before slamming the door shut again. He wet his lips before slowly sipping the water. He devoured his sandwich within seconds. His eyes rolled to the top of his head in pleasure from the food. “Please come out now,” John pleaded again.

“N-no.”

“Why?” John tried the door handle again. Bolted from the inside.

“Y-y-you hate m-me,” Sherlock replied from the other side of the door. His ten year old heart beating out of his chest. He swore he could feel the heat from John’s hand where his was.

“Ok, listen,” John started to confess. He peered down the stairs, checking for ear droppers. “Still alone,” he noted to himself. “I do like you, I like you a lot silly!”

“Wh-what?” Sherlock reached for the door knob. “Is this really happening?” Sherlock asked himself.

“I wanna be like Mycroft and Greg, but us two… Yeah?” John’s face turned red, he looked at the floor. Sherlock had opened the door silently and had fallen into his arms.

“Y-y-yeah,” he replied.

 

“Comon! Lets go- lets go- lets go!” John bounded out the Holmes’ front door. He was followed by an excited Greg and two reluctant Holmes brothers.

“Do we have to go on our five year anniversary dinner with these two rugrats?” Mycroft scowled into Greg’s ear as they entered the family car.

“I h-h-heard th-th-that.”

“Good for you,” Mycroft scoffed, pulling a face at the younger sibling.

“Just behave boys, ok? Look at your John, Sherlock. He is so excited. Behave for him,” Greg argued as the car pulled away. John, in the front seat, tried to talk to Mrs Holmes’ about what happened at school the day before, but Mrs Holmes couldn’t keep up with the boys excited ramblings. In the back seats, Greg separated the two arguing brothers. “I’ll treat you at home if you behave yourself,” he winked at the sixteen year old boy next to him. Sherlock looked confused at the proposition before turning his mind back to John. Sherlock was worried about his feelings towards John. He leant forwards and took the boys hand from behind the chair. He felt as if he was suffocating and drowning, yet free and cared for. Upon trying to explain these emotions to Greg, he got told that that was what being in love was like. Sherlock gagged at this.

herlock gagged at this.

“Almost there boys!” Mrs Holmes said after ten minutes of holding hands in silence. John pulled his arm back from behind the car, where it was holding Sherlock’s, and smoothed his hair down. He was so excited. It was his first date after all. As the car pulled up at Chiquitos John ran outside and opened Sherlock’s door for him.

“Aww, such a gentleman,” Mrs Holmes and Greg said in unison.

“I-I could-d have d-d-done t-th-that,” Sherlock huffed, relinking their hands. The group entered the restaurant and were seated. “Th-th-this is f-fancy.”

“For you maybe,” Mycroft sulked down his sleeve. Greg noticed his boyfriends strop and slowly stroked up his thigh. Mycroft shivered as Greg pulled his hand away, he instantly began to tolerate Sherlock’s childish behaviour, knowing what was in stall for him if he behaved.

“I’ll order for us then,” Greg got up and went to the bar. John looked around the restaurant still buzzing with excitement from his first date. Mycroft stared at the two boys who were holding hands still.

“You know you can let go of him, John.”

“Yeah, but I love Sherlock,” John stated proudly. Sherlock puffed out his chest importantly.

“Oh please, you are ten,” Mycroft argued back, he looked around for Greg.

“Yo-you w-were el-elven when yo-you s-started d-d-d-dating Greg!” Sherlock half yelled in annoyance. Sherlock hugged his boyfriends arm and nuzzled his head to John’s bicep.

“My calm down,” Greg said returning to the table, “they are young and in love, don’t you remember?” He winked at his boyfriend, mimicking Sherlock’s movements and hugged Mycroft’s arm too.

“Get off me, not here,” Mycroft argued, pulling Greg off his arm.

“Oh- ok,” Greg pouted. John giggled as the waitress who brought them their drinks.

“Ok, one for everyone, yeah?” the waitress said, handing them their Pepsi each.

“Thank you,” Greg replied politely.

“W-w-what d-did you d-de-deduce, Mycroft?” the excited Sherlock asked. His deduction skills were improving but he knows he would never be as good as his older brother with his stutter. He had upped his mentoring to three times a week with Greg because of this. He was still so excited about listening to Mycroft deduce.

“Ok… She was a good student and a good mother to the child she had early. The kid was probably still born because she has the name of the child tattooed to her wrist with a kiss under it. She was homeless for a while but this job has given her stability and reassurance of a future. She and her current boyfriend are trying for another baby, hence the distance to alcohol and smokers.” Mycroft groaned, watching the kitchen door for his food. Sherlock and John sat in silent awe as the food arrived. A different waitress this time. Greg nodded in thanks before they all started eating.

“So, how did you two come about?” Greg asked full mouthed and waving his fork at the couple opposite them.

“W-w-well, w-we kissed ab-about thr-three years ago, and I starte-started to like hi-him then,” Sherlock stuttered. He bowed his head when he realised that was the first time he had confessed that to anyone.

“Yeah, me too. Then he got really sad so I told him I like liked him to cheer him up,” John said cheerily.

“Awww, that’s adorable,” Greg purred.

“Wrong, so so so wrong,” two people from the table across from theirs muttered staring at the two ten year olds which were hugging arms again.

“Excuse me?” Mycroft said. Sherlock and John looked up in shock.

“Two kids that old can’t be gay. Parents probably abused them,” one of the men joked. Greg stood up defensively, he was joined by Mycroft. “Dudes, chill out. It was just a joke.”

“A joke? Ha. Ha. Very funny. They are ten! Leave them alone!” Greg half yelled. The majority of the restaurant started looking in their direction. Sherlock and John hid their red faces.

“Leave them alone,” Mycroft threatened. He reached for his phone. He had contacts.

“Excuse me, what’s going on here?” A large man came up to the group. The man was muscly and covered in tattoos. Half his face was covered by his beard.

“These two men are being homophobic bastards to my brother and his boyfriend.”

“Really?” The man puffed his large chest out and flexed his tattooed arms. “Wanna come outside?” The other two men shook their heads and hurried to the bar to get their bill. “You guys ok?” The man asked. He started to sit the boys back down.

 

“Yeah, thank you sir,” Greg said, straightening a wiggling Mycroft’s shirt out. “Stay still!”

 

[ _** *Click here for cut out smut scene* ** _ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1839862)


	5. The Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! Here is a small chapter with a large one to come soon (hopefully). Thanks to my wonderful betas, itsaravenclawthing and Helen (who doesn't have an account of which I know)

The day after their double date and for the first time, Greg and Mycroft were sitting in the school playground together. They were holding hands, as was custom for couples of that age, and were giggling about the night before. The boys shared their favourite parts and asked each other what they could improve on in low voices. They huddled closely together in the chilly breeze.

“I like the finger part of it My,” Greg half moaned. He pulled his face away from the other boys ear before he started to nibble at it. He reminded himself he was at school. Mycroft replied with a half hearted groan of agreement.

"Do you think this is appropriate for boys your age at school?" Craws said coming up behind them. The small man was nicknamed Craws by almost every student, and some of the teachers (even though they would never admit it, because of his hunched back and craw like hands that always hung at the center of his stomach.)

"What's inappropriate Sir?" Mycroft said mockingly at the man. Greg turned red, _"had he heard all of it?"_

"Being all over each other, it's hardly school ground behaviour boys," Craws replied, his hands started to twitch against his chest in a rat - like way.

"We are just doing what we want, _sir_ ," Mycroft started. He was struggling to figure out if he was mad because he was jealous as his own relationship was failing because of his wife being a lesbian, or if his father's homophobia had finally engulfed him too.

"Well, I don't want to see it on my school grounds.

"Ok, _Sir_ ," Mycroft sneered behind his back as he turned away. The two boys returned to leaning on each other and holding hands. They could see peoples’ disapproving looks at them, they lived in a small neighbourhood on the outside of London so homophobia and racism where common factors. But there was a fifty-fifty split between supporters and opposers to the 'gay movement,' as some people called it. They got support from a few strangers if someone attacked them because of homophobia, and it always made them thankful for each other. It had been over five years since they started to date and they had seen each other almost everyday since. They knew everything about each other.

“What’s wrong?” said Greg, trying not to call Mycroft ‘sweet’ after the last incident.

“That girl, over there? See her?” Mycroft pointed obviously. Greg pulled his arm down in embarrassment and followed his eye line.

“Oh yeah, Molly… What’s her name…Molly Hooper, that’s it. I have science with her.”

“She’s been staring at you for ten minutes now. Her expression changed every time you got closer to me. She obviously likes you,” Mycroft started. Greg blushed at this proposition and accidently met Molly’s eye. “She has a note for you in her left hand and she wants to ask you to prom.”

“What? Really? Wow.” Greg stumbled over his words, looking for the phrase. He had been loose friends with the girl, but for her to have a crush on him? They weren’t that close. Greg even doubted if they’d had a full conversation before. Greg felt his hand being crushed under Mycroft’s tightening grip, he began to sweat. He tried to reassure himself and Mycroft that it wasn't true.

 

Luckily for Greg, the class bell rang. He kissed Mycroft goodbye on the forehead and half ran to the boys bathroom. He found a weird sense of reassurance being in a deserted public toilet, he had gained this from countless counselling sessions after his adoption. The toilet walls had peeling blue wallpaper and a strong smell of urine, no one ever came into this part of the school. He leant against the sinks, steadying his breathing. He was insanely unfit for his age and struggled to run even for half a minute. John, six years younger than him, could outrun him in distance and speed. As his breath steadied he splashed water onto his face, "four minutes until class," he noted to himself. His mind was racing, was mycroft jealous? Did Molly actually like him? He noticed she did act a little weird around him but not that sort of weird. The bathroom door sung open, Greg almost lost his balance. Molly moved shyly towards him.

“Oh hey Molly,” Greg said, confused of why she had followed him into the boys toilets. “What’s up?” He said returning to the sink. He damped his wrists to cool down.

"I missed you."

"M-m-missed me?" Said Greg in confusion.

"Over the weekend," she started to move closer. She grabbed his wet wrist and spun him to face her. He met her eyes with concern.

“What’s wrong Molly?” She began to walk her fingers up his chest. Greg shivered. “What are you doing?" He started to blush and rubbed the back of his neck. He knocked her hands off him.

“What? Don’t you want me Greggie?” She rocked on her heels as she reached for his neck. He stepped backwards in alarm.

“We- we - we should get to class.”

"And?" She replied. His mind started to race, he couldn't think of a way out. Greg closed his eyes to stabilise himself. He felt something touch his lips gently, he opened his eyes in shock. She started to move her tongue over his lips. Before he could push her away, he felt her hot tongue push inside his mouth. He stood there, arms flailing helplessly at his sides. _“What do I do, What do I do?”_ he quizzed himself desperately. He didn’t this.

"hey Greg wh- WHAT THE HELL?" Mycroft roared at the door. Gregs eyes shot open and met Mycroft’s instantly. Greg got his senses back and tried to push her away and accidentally grabbed her boob in the process. A disgusted ' _ugh_ ' spat out of Mycroft’s mouth and shoved her off him. She stood in the doorway.

“Until later Greggie,” she winked and disappeared.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Mycroft roared, trying to keep a level head.

"My-Mycroft..." Greg said holding his spinning head. "Had that really happened?" He quizzed himself.

"You... You kissed her?" Mycroft yelled, he was turning red and started to shake.

"It's not.. No," Greg stuttered trying to grab Mycroft's face to kiss him. Mycroft slapped his hand away.

"You kissed her," he spat. Greg shook his head violently he was tearing up. "You know what? It's over! Have a nice life, Jerk." He spun on his heel and ran out the door. Greg stood there in shock. His chest ached sharply. He couldn't believe this happened. He loved Mycroft. He started to cry. He ran after Mycroft.

"Mycroft! Wait!" He ran past multiple classrooms, students stared out the windows at him. Mycroft disappeared into class. Greg ran into the class and darted around looking for Mycroft. A sea of students blocked his view. Greg started to hyperventilate and then ran. He didn't know where to run but followed his legs. His senses scrambled. Greg couldn't see through the tears but aimed for the mass of green in front of him. He made his way into the forest and crawled into a small ditch. He screamed long moans of deep agony into the emptiness. He began to scratch without realising on his arms. Greg was alone.

 

"Mycroft! Greg is here!" Mrs Holmes yelled up the stairs. In his room Mycroft was sat on his bed staring at the wall blankly. He felt nothing, he pushed everything away. Sherlock had tried to cheer him up by offering to do experiments after school, but he just pushed his little brother away. He thought if he blanked everything out it would go away. After all, he caught the love of his life cheating on him with Molly of all people. " _Why? Why did he do it?_ " He quizzed himself over and over. _"Was it me? Am I not good enough?"_

"Should I bring him up?" His mother appeared in the doorway. "He has flowers and he’s crying."

"What flowers?" Mycroft asked weakly, although he knew the answer.

"Red roses," they said in unison. Mycroft started to cry so he hide his face in a pillow dramatically and screamed 'no' at Mrs Holmes. She held her son's shoulder for a second _. “He remembered the roses from our first date.”_ He felt a strong pull in his chest as the memoried of the date flashed back. He remembered the pizza they had shared at Pizza Hut and how his heart almost stopped when he saw Greg in his ‘smart’ outfit.

“He said he didn’t do it, it was her,” she said sympathetically, “I think he is true Mikey…”

“Don’t call me that! And I know what I saw! He kissed her!” He yelled weakly to the pillow. He was so tired from being emotionless. His body ached and he just wanted to get out. He didn’t know what ‘out’ meant, death or just a walk, he didn’t know nor understand.

“Ok, ok… I will go tell him you don’t want to see him.” She left Mycroft crying frantically into his pillow. He took out his childhood friend, Pickles, a stuffed black and white cat from underneath his bed. No one knew he still had this as he is a sixteen year old who is ‘too old for stuffed toys’. He hugged the toy to his chest desperately trying to suck out its comfort. As a child he did this when his parents argued or when Sherlock made fun of his umbrella. Mycroft stared blankly at the soggy pillow as he remembered staring at the stars with Greg talking about the possibilities of the universe five years ago. _“I can’t do this.”_ He felt so empty, but not the emptiness that he creates for himself. He blamed Greg for his pain, and rightly so he thought.

 

“ _HOLD ON, BABY HOLD ON_ ,” sang from out the window. It was the weekend after the breakup. _“Four days, three hours, forty one minutes and fifty two… fifty three seconds”_  Mycroft counted to himself as he moved towards the window. He was considering forgiving Greg. Throughout the week, Mycroft had been finding red roses in his locker and _‘i miss you’_ notes in his work books. Greg had respected his distance though, after tuesday at least. It was the day after the breakup when Greg had ran up to Mycroft and kissed him on the cheek, only to be met with a slap round the face. This lead to rumours spiralling out of control and Molly being made unnecessarily popular in school. He missed Greg uncontrollably and just wanted him back; although the constant attempts to win back the heart of Mycroft where deemed adorable to some, Mycroft found them tedious. The boy had broken his heart, cheated on him, and expected to win him back with ten roses everyday and a few notes? Mycroft stood at the window looking down. Below was Greg holding an eighties beat-box, blurting out Hold On by Kansas, their song. Mycroft bit back a smile and a tear as he turned away from the window. Greg sat down with the beat box above his head and turned the volume up again. As where they live is fairly populated he knew the police will be on him soon, but _“anything for Mycroft,”_ he said to himself. Hearing the music being turned up, Mycroft opened his window and hung half out.

“'Cause it's closer than you think, and you're standing on the brink, hold on, baby hold on,” Greg sang on the top of his lungs through a huge smile to Mycroft. Mycroft sat on the window sill, watching his ex-boyfriend making a complete fool of himself in front of the neighbours. Greg put down the beat-box and started to madly serenade Mycroft. Mycroft sat staring, laughing slightly. He mouthed some of the words along as Greg got down on one knee and produced a single red rose from his pocket. “For you,” was visibly written on a note attached to them.

“What do you want?” Mycroft asked when the song ended.

“Simply? You. It always has been you My,” he yelled back, hearing some ‘ _awww’s_ coming from the houses surrounding him. Almost the entire neighbourhood had come out to see what was going on.

“Then why did you kiss her?” Mycroft replied, raising his voice. Some shocked and disapproving noises emerged from the houses, Mycroft felt like he was on a sitcom and beckoned Greg to meet him downstairs.

They met ten minutes later in Mycroft’s bedroom.

“Please Mycroft,” Greg pleaded to the floor. Mycroft picked up his head by his chin and made Greg look him in the eyes.

“Why? Why did you kiss her?” He asked. He felt like crying again. His face was still teared stained and he was very self aware about it.

“I didn’t. I told you she kissed me,” Greg promised. He looked into the boys eyes, he fell in love every time he did. He was head over heels and couldn’t cope being separated from him. In fact, in the four days they had broken up he had relapsed and had gone back to counselling. He felt like Mycroft was his security blanket.

“You didn’t stop her…” Mycroft started to believe what the boy was saying. He wasn’t twitching his thumbs so Greg was telling the truth by Mycroft’s knowledge. He also noticed his long sleeves and trousers, _“no Greg, you were doing so well,”_ he blamed himself for this.

“I was in shock,” Greg protested shyly. He took the other boy’s hands.

“Ok,” Mycroft agreed. He placed a kiss slowly on Greg’s nose. “Boyfriends?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading. There should be another update soon! Please make sure to leave kudos and a comment! -Beth (with help from Sarah)


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